‘You can’t do that,’ the Junior Consul called, ‘they’re meant to be protecting the Senate.’
‘From what? The Senate has just become irrelevant,’ Lentulus barked. ‘And even if the Guard were to come to attack the Senate with an emperor at their head do you think my men will fight? Bollocks they will.’ He turned and walked out.
Gaius looked at Vespasian; they came to a swift mutual agreement. ‘We’ll come with you, Lentulus,’ Vespasian called as he and Gaius stood up.
There was a chorus of similar calls as the senators rose to their feet.
Following the Urban prefect to the door, Vespasian glanced at Herod Agrippa who frowned as their eyes met; then a half-smile of understanding seeped over his face.
As Vespasian passed, the Judaean King turned back to Secundus. ‘Would you still like me to lead that delegation, Senior Consul?’ he asked innocently, above the noise.
Pomponius Secundus scowled at him and stormed from the temple.
The streets of Rome were almost deserted as the Senate led the Urban Cohorts up the Vicus Patricius towards the Viminal Gate, beyond which was situated the Praetorian camp. As one of the main brothel streets in Rome, its pavements would normally be crowded at any time of the day or night; but this evening business was very slow. There was not even a single cart or wagon, forbidden to enter the city during the day, rumbling along the road taking advantage of night-time delivery hours. The common people of Rome had mostly locked their doors and closed their shutters as they waited for the power struggle to be played out so that life could get back to normal and they could be safe in the knowledge that somebody — and they cared not who — was in charge of distributing the grain dole and financing the games.
Passing under the Viminal Gate, Vespasian took a deep intake of breath; before them, a hundred paces away, lined across the front of the Praetorian camp, stood three cohorts of the Guard in full arms. The burnished iron of their helmets and scale armour and the bronze of the rims and bosses of their oval shields reflected the guttering torchlight. At their centre, on a raised dais, sat the new Emperor; the few senators who had already offered their allegiance to him stood to either side.
On the dais, behind Claudius, Vespasian recognised Claudius’ freedmen, Narcissus and Pallas, as well as Caligula’s erstwhile freedman Callistus; all three wore citizens’ plain white togas.
‘I’ll go first,’ Herod Agrippa told the two Consuls who were showing a reluctance to go forward although each was escorted by twelve lictors bearing fasces, the bundle of rods tied around an axe symbolising the magistrates’ power.
The Consuls both nodded and, despite the loss of dignitas, allowed themselves to be preceded by a client king.
Upon drawing closer, Vespasian could see an amused look play on Narcissus’ pudgy face as he stroked his oiled, pointed black beard with a stubby hand, heavy with bejewelled rings. He had always served Claudius, and Vespasian knew that he had been responsible for keeping his master safe during the reigns of Tiberius and Caligula by encouraging him, although little encouragement was needed, to play the fool; for him, today was the vindication of that policy. Pallas, tall, slim and full-bearded, betrayed, as ever, no emotion; he had served Vespasian’s late patron, the Lady Antonia, but upon her death had transferred his allegiance to her son Claudius, as the eldest surviving male in her family. Vespasian tried but failed to catch his eye, hoping that their past acquaintance, friendship even, would still count for something. The shaven-headed, wiry Callistus was not so well known to Vespasian although he had met him on a few occasions, firstly as Caligula’s slave and then as his freedman. How he had transferred his loyalty to Claudius before Caligula’s assassination, just in time to save himself, Vespasian did not know. It did not, however, surprise him, as the one thing he did appreciate about the three men who now stood behind the Emperor was that they were all consummate politicians; not public demagogues but private intriguers with a subtle and accomplished understanding of imperial politics.
When Herod Agrippa was ten paces from the dais a sharp command followed by the deep rumble of a cornu, the horn usually used for signalling on the battlefield, led to three thousand blades being simultaneously unsheathed. The Consuls stopped abruptly.
‘The Senate and the Urban Cohorts have come to swear allegiance to the Emperor,’ Herod Agrippa shouted and then swiftly stepped aside.
‘And ab-b-bout time,’ Claudius yelled at the senators; saliva sprayed from his mouth and his left arm shook uncontrollably as it gripped the arm of his curule chair. ‘I wanted you to make me e-e-e-emperor in a constitutional manner; instead we have a situation whereby my first issue of coinage is going to have my head on the front and “emperor, thanks to the P-P-P-Praetorian Guard” on the back and not “thanks to the Senate and People of Rome”. Why did you delay? Didn’t you want a cripple for your emperor?’
‘That never crossed our minds, Princeps,’ Pomponius Secundus lied.
Claudius held up his right hand and Narcissus unravelled a scroll and, after a small pause for effect, started reading: ‘“Not only does Claudius stutter and drool and stumble in a way that would bring dishonour to the dignity of government but also he is not known to, and therefore not loved by, the legions.”’ Narcissus lowered the scroll and his eyebrows raised a fraction as he met Pomponius Secundus’ bewildered gaze.
Claudius turned to a senator, in his early thirties, standing close to the dais. ‘That is what he said, isn’t it, Geta?’
‘It was, Princeps, word for word,’ Gnaeus Hosidius Geta replied, looking smug. ‘I was ashamed that a consul of Rome could state such untruths about …’
‘Yes, yes, that’s e-e-enough. No need to overdo it, praetor.’ Claudius jerked his attention back to the mortified Consul. ‘Can you think of one reason why I should not have you executed? In fact, can anyone think of one reason why I shouldn’t have the whole S-S-Senate executed?’
‘Because you wouldn’t have anyone worthwhile left to dominate, Princeps?’ Herod Agrippa suggested.
There was a moment’s stunned silence before Claudius exploded with laughter. ‘Ah Herod, you do cheer me up, my friend.’
Herod smirked and bowed extravagantly, his hands upon his chest.
Claudius acknowledged the gesture and then turned back, his face set rigid again with displeasure, to the Senior Consul. ‘As to the army n-n-not knowing or loving m-m-me, you are mistaken. I am the brother of the great G-G-G-Germanicus; they will love me as they loved him because I will love them as he did. I will …’ Behind him Narcissus subtly pressed a hand on his shoulder and Claudius immediately fell silent. Pallas bent down to whisper in his ear.
‘I think we’re getting a foretaste of what is to come,’ Vespasian mused. ‘But at least we can still consider Pallas to be a friend.’
Gaius frowned. ‘Let’s hope so, although past friendships can’t always be counted upon when the political landscape changes. How are you with Narcissus? Has he forgiven you for cashing that bankers’ draft of Claudius’ whilst you were in Alexandria?’
‘He owes me a couple of large favours but I assume that cancels one of them out.’
Claudius nodded at his freedman as Pallas stood back up, having given his advice, and then struggled to his feet to indicate that the impromptu audience was at an end. ‘I shall retire to bed now; you will attend me tomorrow at the second hour and lead me to the Forum where you will announce your unanimous decision to endorse the will of the Guard; then you will swear allegiance to me in the Senate House. I expect all of you to be there. Now go!’
Claudius was helped down from the dais by Narcissus; Callistus and Pallas tried to outdo one another in courtesy by offering the other the honour of being next down the steps before descending together. The senators and the Urban Cohorts broke out into a series of ‘hail Caesars’, whilst the Guard, in two swift motions, sheathed their drawn swords and then snapped to a resounding attention.